


Wind, Sand and Stars

by kaguyahime7



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Angst, F/M, Patrick is bad at small talk, Romance, Turnadette if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-26 19:16:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13864248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaguyahime7/pseuds/kaguyahime7
Summary: In which a vehicle malfunction results in an awkward but poignant interlude between Patrick and Sister Julienne. Takes place during the series 6 Christmas special.





	Wind, Sand and Stars

By some combination of absentmindedness (him) and poor handwriting (probably him as well, but he partially suspects Shelagh), Patrick is driving to town for a supplies run with Sister Julienne as his traveling companion.

When he panics about what to talk about during the trip, Shelagh sweetly advises sticking with banal topics like the weather and charming anecdotes about their children. As she turns and waves goodbye to him, he swears she's muttering that ulcer clinics are not appropriate conversation topics in any scenario.

And so Patrick fills the first half of the trip with asinine chatter about Timothy and Angela's exploits at Granny Parker's and even more inane remarks about the African climate. Once they arrive in town he distracts himself with checking boxes on an inventory sheet and loading the heavy crates into the rear truck bed. All his worries and pent-up nervousness seems unfounded now considering how smoothly the day is going. There's a jaunty kick to his step as he hops into the driver's seat and begins their return trek.

The journey back is going so well that he nearly weeps with frustration when the engine overheats and stalls out. Sister Julienne tactfully says nothing when he drags himself out, pops open the bonnet and inspects the smoking parts. He prattles on about giving the engine a break for a bit and she politely accepts the explanation without pressing for details.

He supposes things could be quite worse. The engine had the good sense to sputter out near a shaded area where they can rest fairly comfortably at least. Maybe this will won't be a disaster after all, Murphy's law be damned.

“I suppose we should be thankful that this happened on the return trip, don't you think so?” prompts Sister Julienne. “At least we have supplies in case an emergency arises.”

“Oh yes, the whole situation is all tickety-boo and marvelous!” he blurts out.

Despite his years of medical training and practical experience, he ponders if it's possible to die from sheer mortification based on her exasperated reaction. He hurriedly gathers two water canteens and a tin of biscuits from one of the crates as his face burns with embarrassment. She settles under a tree canopy and peers out at the surrounding terrain. A small smile crosses her face as a pair of antelope pause to graze nearby.

“This trip has brought up all sorts of memories from my childhood. Did Shelagh ever tell you I lived in Aden as a girl?”

He really doesn't want to let something foolish slip out of his mouth again. Nodding is safe, he decides, and bobs his head accordingly. Shelagh had mentioned on the flight that Sister Julienne's father was stationed in the Aden Settlement when she was very young. But when he tried to ask more about the topic, Shelagh had abruptly changed the subject and he'd forgotten about the matter until now.

“She did mention it briefly. That must have been quite the adventure for a young girl.”

Wonderful. Now he's insinuating that she isn't young anymore. Perhaps he needs a thorough beating with Timothy's cricket bat to keep from blurting out the first thought that pops into his head.

“I was quite small when I lived there with my family. Children tend to base their happiness on rather basic things, such as the weather, the amount of freedom allowed by their parents, and the quantity of sweets they can purloin before getting caught.”

He chuckles at her candidness. He's known Sister Julienne for over a decade, and she's very nearly the closest thing he had to a friend at Nonnatus House until Shelagh came into his life. But even so, he felt there was a closed-off part to her that few people, excluding his wife, were privy to.

“It must have been difficult for you suddenly moving to a completely foreign place. I don't suppose there were any other children there at the same time as you?”

“There was another family we were close to. They had a son who was around the same age as myself and we managed to amuse ourselves just fine...”

_The desert hasn't changed that much in forty years. South Africa is not Aden, but there are some aspects of all arid, parched landscapes that cross geographic boundaries._

_Her memories of Aden are like bleached photographs that were exposed too long in the light. When her mind struggles to focus on a specific moment in time, she merely stands under the sweltering sun and lets her body remember everything instead._

_A long time ago, when Louise's family first arrived in Aden, the dry, scorching heat hit her like a freight train. Sweat constantly pooled under her arms and behind her knees. It ran rivulets down her back and soaked her best Sunday church dress from the moment she stepped off the ship in Suez._

_Papa cheerfully told her to think of their move like a great adventure, like Alice when she found herself in Wonderland. Louise rather liked the idea that she was a heroine in an riveting story and the notion consoled her when she felt overwhelmed by her surroundings._

_When the heat became too unbearable and the stale night air made her toss and turn, she crept out of her family's quarters in an attempt to escape her stifling room. Armed with a tattered book of Greek mythology and an old Army blanket, she lay on the porch and traced constellations in the pitch-black sky. She marveled at how many more stars she could see here than in London. Although she was thrilled to witness such celestial sights, Louise bleakly wondered if she would ever experience a cold British winter ever again. Her days and nights were spent in a persistent damp state. She dreamed of making snow angels, sledding, and gorging on choc ices once Papa was reassigned back to Britain._

_Her schedule today, for instance, involved as little deviation from indoors as possible. She finally found her copy of “The Railway Children” and planned to spend the day devouring the book. Her plans definitely did not include gallivanting in the desert and chasing sandstorms with Charlie Newgarden no matter how many times he asked. The more she moved, the more she perspired, and the more miserable she felt._

_She's never met anyone like him before. The boys at school reminded her of cage-less zoo animals whose sole purpose in life was to terrorize shy girls like herself. Charlie annoys her, certainly, with persistent invitations to go exploring in the wilderness. He embarrasses her in the dining hall by shoveling mounds of food in his mouth and chattering incessantly about his favorite radio dramas._

_But he could be so endearingly charming. He managed to coax her outside into the sunshine a few days ago. He swore they were serving knickerbocker glories in the officers' mess and like a fool she believed him. They were kicked out immediately but he did manage to smuggle a tin of Marie biscuits out for them to enjoy._

_Other than Papa, there isn't anyone who can make her smile and laugh like Charlie can._

_But there are limits to her affections, particularly when they involve him noisily bursting into her family's quarters. She's completely engrossed in her book and falls out of her chair as he throws the side door open. She lands hard on her bottom and scowls angrily at him._

_He grins sheepishly and fumbles with a small bundle in hands. “Didn't mean to scare you, sorry about that.”_

_She glares at him warily. “I don't suppose you're hiding a choc ice in there?”_

_“Couldn't snag anything from the canteen after that cinnamon toast incident last week. But I have a surprise for you instead!”_

_Her slate-blue eyes narrow at his words. “Don't tease me, please. It's horrid enough when Papa 'surprises' me with awful things like hairy spiders and horned beetles.”_

_“I didn't check these for bugs, but you can look them over for any creepy crawly things yourself.”_

_He shoves the bundle into her hands and eagerly watches her inspect a handful of desert flowers. The slightly wilted bouquet is tied with a dirty shoelace that was likely pilfered from an unsuspecting private as a practical joke. She disapproves of Charlie's pranks as a principle but allows herself a secret smile while inhaling the spicy-sweet fragrance of the flowers._

_“Thank you for the lovely surprise,” she says politely._

_“Oh, that wasn't the surprise. Come with me!”_

_He doesn't wait for her to decline—grabbing her hand, they tear off together into the afternoon heat. She screeches about impropriety but doesn't stop running either. An oasis with a glistening pool and a small grove of trees looms just ahead of them and suddenly Louise can't think of anything except splashing her legs in the clear, cold water._

_They skid to a stop and carelessly kick off their shoes. Charlie immediately jumps into the water and gleefully shouts at Louise to join him. While attempting to maintain some minuscule degree of good deportment, she stands ankle-deep and calmly tosses water against her sweating calves. Her prim efforts are for nothing though, as Charlie cups his hands beneath the surface and unleashes a wave that soaks through her dress. She shrieks and splashes him back._

_After both parties are thoroughly soaked, Louise wades to the other side and lies back against the scorched earth. She knows her mother will have a fit about her disheveled appearance later. But right now, as the sun bakes her skin and clothes dry, she doesn't think about homesickness or lost creature comforts. There is nowhere else she would rather be than here, and there is no one else she wants by her side except Charlie Newgarden._

“So what happened to Charlie?” asks Patrick tentatively.

She bites her lip and remembers the bittersweet feeling when she received Charlie's letter two years ago. There were a hundred and one problems that needed her undivided attention that day, but those troubles were immediately forgotten when she saw his name scrawled at the bottom. She could practically hear his warm voice as she quickly scanned the letter. She felt like a foolish dreamy girl thinking that the sky seemed bluer and the air was sweeter because she would see him again. Her love for Charlie had remained dormant like a seed in the winter, neglected except for their yearly Christmas card exchange, and now it was gradually unfurling open again after a long hibernation.

_She chose her outfit very deliberately the last time she saw Charlie: a plain, high-necked white blouse; a drab navy skirt that fell past her knees; scuffed Oxfords and a tightly wound French twist completed the ensemble. She'd glanced in the mirror and her plain presentation seemed...appropriate, considering the sharp turn her life was about to take. The outfit was utterly forgettable and that exactly what she needed to be for him._

_She tried to rehearse what she would say while slipping into her clothes. How could she quantify her reasons for taking religious orders? She grasped for the right words to describe her calling and found them all inadequate. She hadn't asked for strong faith and yet it flourished within her despite her misgivings. She was called to do something with her life and she intended to follow its siren song, but that didn't make her next actions any less painful._

_It didn't matter what she wore in the end. She never left the house and tortured herself with the thought of poor Charlie waiting for her under the glowing marquee lights. But how could she sit next to him and watch a silly movie and pretend she hadn't planned to break his heart?_

_She didn't even have the decency to tell him in person once her mind was made up. Instead, she spent a long night writing a letter telling him of her decision. The first drafts were too passionate and romantic. The middle bunch were full of ramblings about how there was nothing wrong with him—the fault lay entirely with her. He truly deserved someone better than her. They would find their own happiness, just not with each other._

_As dawn broke, she blearily scratched out a short note that read more like a telegram than a farewell letter. She left for novitiate training the next day and gradually forced herself to forget that she ever considered a life with Charlie Newgarden._

“Sister Julienne?”

“Charlie had a very successful life. He married a wonderful woman, had three lovely children, not to mention a splendid business career. We even managed to exchange Christmas cards through his wife. I'm certain he never wanted for anything at all. He passed away without any regrets, I'm sure.”

She shudders and remembers the sharp, knife-like pain when Tom gave her Anthony's letter. She had confided her grief to the only other person who could possibly have understood her struggle between reconciling duty and love, someone who had seen both sides and emerged with a balanced perspective. Despite the comfort she reaped from spilling her sorrows to Shelagh, she still privately mourned in the rare moments where she was not tasked with solving administrative, medical or spiritual crises. The soundless hours after Compline were normally a time for careful meditation, but lately she cried silently for the shy, pale girl who fell in love with a boy who never failed to make her happy.

“Did you have any regrets about what you did?”

She's visibly surprised at his blunt observation. “What I did to him was unforgivable,” she says. “I have never regretted following my religious calling, but I will never forgive myself for keeping him at a distance to spare myself any further grief.”

He thinks of Shelagh, withdrawing her injured hand from him and forcing herself to choose between him and God in that moment. He remembers the physical separation between them while she recovered from tuberculosis and how much it hurt to be apart from her, even temporarily. Most importantly though, he remembers how relieved they were to find each other on a misty country road.

“Someone very dear to both of us once questioned who was allowed to determine what is forgivable or not. You may have turned your back on Charlie at one point, but you went to him when he needed you the most. That seems to be the closest thing to redemption that I can conclude.”

For a moment he isn't sure if she's listening at all. Then she stands abruptly, brushes sand from her clothes, and stares at the rapidly setting sun behind him.

“I think the truck is cooled sufficiently, Doctor Turner, and we will be missed if we linger here.”

The rest of the drive is painfully silent and he busies himself with unloading supplies when they return. He absently kisses Shelagh's cheek when she rushes up to greet him. He says nothing in response to her probing gaze. _What happened between the two of you?_ He doesn't need to be a mind reader to know her unspoken question.

And once again, despite his years of medical training and practical experience telling him otherwise, he feels his heart breaking when Sister Julienne embraces Shelagh a bit more fiercely than normal. It's possible he sees a few stray tears running down her cheeks, but it could have been nothing more than another mirage in the desert.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope I didn't take too much leeway with this one. In episode 3 of series, 4, where Charlie Newgarden appears, Sister Julienne mentions that she was “very small” when they lived in Aden. I took that statement and ran with it—I'm imaging she's approximately 11-12 years old in this story and I'm assuming Charlie's around the same age. The title is a reference to “Wind, Sand and Stars” by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. As always, feedback is greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading!


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